Monday, September 6, 2010

Fanning Pages

My thumb inside the binding,
Fanning the hundreds of book pages…
I have no need to read these words,
It is my own life through the ages.

The speed of flashing chapters,
Split-second memories and dreams…
Is no time-line exaggeration,
Life passed that fast, it seems.

We tally battles won and lost,
Weighing regrets past and before us…
Realizing life is not a song,
It happens once, no chorus.

1 comment:

  1. Is this a picture of your scrapbook of pictures? The poems are in another book?

    I visualize you making books of your records.